An Album Review! No More Invitations, by Jennifer Haase

So, here’s the deal: An awesome lady, who happens to be a family friend that I’ve only met through Twitter, has released a folk album this year. She, being kick-ass and all, sent me a CD to review…Blogview? Reblog? ReBlogview? Whatever you want to call it, I’m going to talk about it. Here’s the thing, though…I’m not a professional music critic by any means. So, if you’re looking for technical terms and relevant jargon…you’re just not going to find it. I like music, I like writing, and I’m going to write about some music…that I like.

So, let’s do this.

I was born in the 80’s, but I’m definitely a child of the 90’s. The TV was (mostly) awesome, the clothes were pretty much terrible, and the music was straight-up spectacular. I don’t know, there was just something about listening to music in the 90’s that made you feel like you were part of something significant.
I am aware, of course, that we are now in the 21st century, and that Jennifer Haase’s album, No More Invitations is very much a modern release.
It doesn’t feel like it, though, and that’s what I think is so awesome about it. After I gave the CD a listen, I could almost smell the Strawberries n’ Cream Glade scented candle I had down in my old basement bedroom. I remembered the crush I had on that guy, and how I was pretty sure that he was made in a mold speciﬁcally stamped “Lauren Blessing’s SoulMate. Do not touch or she will kill you in a hormonal fit of terrifying rage.”

Turns out I was totally wrong about that, but that’s not the point.

No More Invitations has all the perfect elements that are inherent to a well-rounded, kick-ass album. You’ve got to have songs that make you dance around…songs that make you walk through a particularly long room like you’re the protagonist of a romantic comedy walking to your awesome-but-not-totally-emotionally-fulfilling job. You’ve got to have a couple songs that make your heart hurt…and you’ve got to have songs that simply bring a smile to your face while you wash the dishes.

I’ll let you in on two of my favorites:

New Pink Sweater: Have you ever been listening to a CD while doing something lame (picking up toys, sweeping the floor, flossing) and had a song come on that makes you feel sexy and saucy, regardless of your humdrum activities? (Come on Dudes, I know you feel saucy every once in awhile, too.) This song did that to me. AND not only does the song make you dance with a swagger, but it was endorsed by Kirstie Alley (@kirstiealley) on Twitter. By endorsed, I mean, she liked it and she told her followers. I don’t mean officially. (Please don’t sue me, Kirstie.)

3000 Miles: For those of you who know me really well, you know I’ve got a thing for Victorian Literature, and painful love stories full of unrequited love. This song is a great fit for me. The perfect amount of haunting, the perfect amount of gentle Folkiness, and a blend of voices between Jennifer and singer-songwriter Stephen Kellogg that can melt butter (or your heart).

Chapter You: A great, bluesy feel, a reversed fairy-tale, and all of the appropriate relationship insecurities. Love it. That’s all. I just really like this one. Possibly my favorite on the album.

See, I could do a little blurb for each song, because I like them all. You’d get super-sick of reading, though, when you should really be listening.

Why, Lauren, how can I do that? How do I get my hands on this sexy little piece of East Coast Folkery?

How, you ask? Why, dear friends, by clicking here. You can also visit Jennifer’s websiteand sample a couple songs first, if that’s your bag, baby. Oh, and you can check out her fabulously honest blog, if you need to add a little more reading into your daily schedule.

Whether you buy it or not, you owe it to yourself to give No More Invitations a listen, and expose yourself to Jennifer Haase’s talent, honesty, and general Awesomeness. This album’s got a beautiful feeling, and when you add to that some guest appearances from people like Rosanne Cash and Stephen Kellogg, you just can’t go wrong.